


Lost Boys Like Me

by escritoireazul



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, Double Penetration, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Rough Sex, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 19:32:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13130553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: Teenage vampire slayers on their first hunt have nothing on an experienced pack of vampires. Everything changes.





	Lost Boys Like Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boywonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/gifts).



"Run, run, lost boy," they say to me  
Away from all of reality  
Neverland is home to lost boys like me  
And lost boys like me are free  
"Lost Boy" Ruth B

 

 

Teenage wannabe vampire slayers on their first hunt have nothing on an experienced pack of vampires. It does not go well for any of them. But Sam is protected, and he survives. Stumbles up the stairs, spattered with the blood of his friends. Stares, blank, at the three half-vampires slumped in the back of the car.

He gets in the driver’s seat. Starts the car. Puts his hands on the wheel.

He’s still sitting there, frozen, bloody and terrified, when the sun goes down.

 

 

Sam doesn’t drink willingly, but he does drink, bottle pressed tight to his mouth, one big hand working at his throat until he’s forced to swallow.

Fight it or not, everyone drinks in the end.

 

 

Two sons with vampire blood racing through their veins and a man who has been so kind offering her a family, as bloodthirsty and violent and wild as they may be, Lucy gives in. Takes Max’s hand, brings his wrist to her mouth when he slashes it open, drinks deeply.

Star watches, holding Michael’s arm, eyes large and dark in her pale face.

When Lucy turns away from Max, she has blood smeared across her mouth and onto her cheeks. She opens her arms to her boys. Sam rushes into them, clings to her. Michael follows more slowly, but he, too, tucks himself into the hug. Holds her as tight as she holds them.

Max beams, a benevolent monster.

Star knits her fingers together and stares at the floor. Feels the last bit of hope slip away. There will be no escape.

 

 

Lucy kills first. She believes herself an angel of mercy, an avenging mother, though how there is mercy in blood and pain and death, Michael doesn't know. She makes friends with social workers, gets them to trust her, listens to their stories. (Max tweaks their minds just a little, makes them malleable.) Then, when she’s worked out which adults are abusing kids, she slaughters them, vicious and violent and slow.

 

 

Michael kills second. He’s fighting the thirst, fighting it hard, but Max takes away the bottle, and all they’re left with is the burn in their throats. Star holds tight to Michael, kisses him, drives her nails into his back and pushes blunt teeth into his shoulder. He chews on her thigh once, until she screams, until he draws blood, and she licks it from his mouth after.

David and his boys hunt Surf Nazis. Michael goes with them. Hangs from a branch, face twisted, teeth sharp. Tastes blood and ash in the air. Stares as they kill.

Launches off the tree, past the top of the fire, fingertips burning. Tears into a body; blood spurts from the throat, from the wrists, from the thighs. He bites hard and rips flesh and bathes himself in the extra blood he can't manage to gulp down.

He comes home bruised and bloody and changed.

 

 

Sam kills only because Lucy brings a nearly dead man to him and pushes Sam’s face against the open wound in the man’s throat. She is not going to let her sweet boy waste away. Sam swallows reflexively, drains the man dry that last little step. It counts as his kill.

He’s still mourning and blank, some of the time, but fresh blood adds color to him, energy to his steps, and a strange bright shine to his eyes.

Then, one day, Lucy hears him laugh. She grins so hard her cheeks ache and there are tears in her eyes. Max puts his hands on her shoulders, leans into her as they watch Laddie coax Sam into playing a game. There’s more laughter, and Lucy's heart warms.

She turns and kisses Max, hard, devours his mouth, and he takes her away from their boys. Takes her to their private home, where they strip each other bare, draw blood and pleasure, and lie sated after, bearing each other’s marks, still tasting each other’s blood on their tongues.

 

 

“Want to grow up?” Dwayne asks Laddie one afternoon. They’ve not been awake long, and they’re all waiting for the last of sunset to drain away over the edge of the water. “Wait to drink?”

Laddie stares at him. He’s not as young as he looks. His body changes, but it does so slowly. He might have to wait a thousand years before his body is an adult. (Probably not a thousand. Maybe fifty, though.)

Waiting is torture. He’s thirsty all the time, and his anger blooms hard and hot over the littlest thing.

But being stuck as a child forever -- that would be hell.

“I’ll wait,” he says, and Dwayne nods. Laddie gets his own bottle then, filled with human blood once a week, vampire blood once a month. He doesn’t ask who donates the blood. He drinks, and he tries to keep everyone happy, and he waits to finally grow up.

 

 

Star kills last (except for Laddie, but he has some time yet).

She spends a lot of time at the lighthouse museum that winter. It’s new enough the novelty hasn’t worn off (it’s the first surfing museum in the world, or that’s what people say. Star doesn’t know enough about it to know if that’s true or not), but the weather’s cold enough and foggy enough most nights that no one hangs out around it after it closes.

She takes off her thin slippers, presses bare feet against the cold ground until her toes go numb. It takes hours, now, though when she first came to Santa Carla, she froze the moment she got off the bus. That was a long time, and a bottle of blood, and an unceasing, burning thirst ago.

Star doesn’t precisely choose to kill. (She doesn’t precisely choose not to kill, either.) She sits in the shadows at the base of the lighthouse, watching the fog rise from the ocean, alone and quiet and desperate.

And then a boy stumbles into view.

He’s young, younger than Michael was when he first came to Santa Carla, and drunk. Either he’s a runaway and has been crashing on park benches for awhile or he doesn’t shower ever, because he stinks of urine and sweat, shit and greasy hair.

He staggers to a stop when he sees her. His expression is vague, his eyes empty, the pupils blown. This close, she can smell something sour-sweet on his breath. Alcohol, awhile back, but something more recent. Something she doesn’t recognize. New drugs come into Santa Carla all the time. Out of Santa Carla, too. There’s a part of campus that Star avoids because of its strange chemical smell.

Star stands. He stares, but she doesn’t think he sees her. She could run and leap off the edge of the cliff and fly away. He would never remember.

Her thirst burns. Her fangs prick through her gums. Her face twists.

She doesn’t have to look into a mirror at her fading reflection to see the monster inside breaking free.

Star walks to him, each step slow and deliberate. Her toes are numb, but she can feel sharp rocks pierce her heels. She leaves blood behind, a trail through the fog and the darkness.

Still he stares, unmoving. When she gets close, he starts to tremble. He’s like a bunny, she realizes, frozen prey, a predator too near to run. Don’t move and it can’t see me.

Once, she was the prey, young and vulnerable and scared. David came to her, offered absolution from her past. Baptized her in blood and salt and lips so cold they burned.

Star takes the boy into her arms, holds him close despite the stench. She puts her fangs into his throat. Each drink is slow and deliberate.

His heart beat stutters and slows. She leaves his body at the base of the lighthouse, a sacrifice to the light that once guided ships through dangerous waters, safe and true, then sat, shuttered and dark, until it was born into something new. She walks into the fog. Steps off the cliff.

Leaves the light behind.

 

 

When David kisses her, his lips are warm from a fresh kill. She chases the taste of blood into his mouth, and his hands grip her throat, holding her still. Michael presses against her from behind, his dick hard against the small of her back. She can feel David against her thigh.

David squeezes the breath from her, but she doesn’t need to breathe. She’ll have a perfect ring of his hands around her throat, his fingers pressed tight; it will heal too quickly, but for a moment, she’s marked by him.

They strip away their clothes, mouths and hands alternating between their work and each other. David lifts her and presses inside before she’s ready; she’s not wet enough, not relaxed enough, and she shouts into his mouth when he thrusts into her, forcing her open. Pleasure races in with the pain, and she feels herself get wet even as she stretches and burns.

Michael grinds against her. He’s filled with fresh, warm blood, too, and he bumps against that spot where David pushes inside her, the tip of his dick pressed against David’s balls. David groans and bites Star’s shoulder. Holds her close with one hand, fists the other in Michael’s hair and drags him into a bloody, messy kiss.

Michael forces her legs up, around David’s waist. Tugs David forward until she can lock them behind him, until only his shoulders are pressed against the wall. Shoves Star against David so that her ass sticks out and her face is tucked against the side of David’s throat.

Only slightly gentler than David, Michael works a damp finger into her ass. Two. Three. And then, impatient, grunting at the tightness, he pushes his dick against her asshole until it finally opens around the head and he shoves the rest inside.

That hurts too. Burns. Makes her feel torn open and full.

Star screams, bites at David’s throat until she draws blood, and starts to rock between them, forward into David, backward into Michael. Pleasure and pain and blood, and they fuck into her, fuck each other through her, tear at each other with claws and teeth.

It lasts forever. It ends too quick. Star comes, and they come with her, and they end up slumped on the floor together, smeared with blood and come and sweat.

 

 

They circle the carousel, David and his lost boys. He spins, coat swinging, to look back along them as they move in a ragged line. Star touches a mane here, the jut of a horse's leg there. Walks with the movement of the carousel, dances with the sway.

Parents pull their children to the side as they pass, big hair and leather and wild eyes.

Michael touches David, fast and light, one hand on his back. Laddie jumps and Dwayne catches him, swings him high. Paul grabs a pole and twists around it, body curved to avoid the horse’s head jutting forward.

Star holds her hands out to her sides, brushes her fingers across whatever she passes, and breaths in saltwater, sweat, sugar -- and, always, the blood beneath their skin.


End file.
